Slipping off Track
by Devie
Summary: Dollhouse - Back On Track By Devie Only show characters Adelle, Topher and Dom make an appearance here, as OC Yankee does a runner in Los Angeles at 4am and Dom has to break out the kevlar to get her back. And all for the want of vans with toilets!


"What do you mean you've lost her?"

Laurence Dominic angrily pulled the phone off the speaker jack to talk to the handler directly.

"It's not my fault" complained Joan Carpenter, the assigned handler for Yankee. "Your vans do not come equipped with restrooms. I had to make a call".

"A call?"

Dominic snorted.

"Well it's a possibility your call might have cost us one Active, your job and possibly more if you can't relocate her again".

Joan, sitting in the van, paled at the last part.

"Am I fired?" she asked calmly.

"JUST FIND HER!" he shouted down the phone.

**

'Pain is gated, pain is gated, pain is…'

The thought rang in Yankee's head as she ran down another alley to get over to the east side of Los Angeles. Luckily it was night and there were minimal people on the streets; those that were, were less inclined to comment on a woman in green snakeskin jeans and a black t-shirt heeling it down the sidewalk at 4 in the morning.

She had ditched the pumps for a pair of trainers she had stole from the cloakroom of _The Widow_, the club where she had found herself, shucked up to a teenager with acne while some metal band cranked the sound-system to its limits.

Although stolen was a loose term, she had left the pumps in trade for the shoes she swiped. No doubt the owner of the shoes would have a real surprise when she returned at the end of the night. Yankee was lucky the shoes fit her at all.

But they were good for running in. And boy could she run now. She couldn't remember being this fit in her life, which in turn made her more upset about her life right now. Emotion made the headache worse so she pushed it away.

And the idea that if he ran until her lungs ached it would take the pain away from her head, which was currently banging harder than the band's baseline.

It would get her away from the club too.

**

Laurence Dominic was the head of the LA House security for a reason. He was smart, had training and experience with the US military and contacts in branches of the American Government.

Unfortunately subtlety and the massaging of egos were missing from his CV.

Striding into Topher's playpen he discovered his worse fears. Topher's computer and monitors were all running, displaying Yankee's bio-signature and location as somewhere in Los Angeles.

Topher himself though was stretched out on his futon under a duvet and a copy of _Sports Illustrated_.

Alarms were flashing all over the place, alerting anyone in the vicinity that Yankee was clearly running a marathon but with the sound turned down they wailed in vain while Topher dreamed.

Although he didn't dream for very long as Dominic very calmly and quickly in a considerable show of strength overturned the camp bed.

"What the hell..." were the first understandable words Topher was able to manage after crawling out from under his duvet and upturned futon.

Seeing the head of security looking down on his prostrate form Topher shut up; and tried to think quickly if it was anything he'd done recently to make Dom take this radical form of action.

"Good morning Topher" said Dom calmly.

He then went over to the console and turned the mute button off.

About 4 different alarms went off simultaneously, clearly having been ringing for some time. This brought Topher out of his stupor and the blonde-haired preppy geek scrambled to his chair and wiping the sleep out of one eye got his game-face on.

"Yankee's running. Like _really_ running. She's been going for a while now looking at these readings. Crossing Lexington down some back alley to…"

Topher continued giving a play-by-play of the escaped Active as both men followed the blip kriss-crossing the LA street map that Topher brought up through his access to the city's records.

"She's weaving" said Dominic after a few minutes of study. "She knows we're going to track her".

"How could she know?"

"Good question master programmer". Dominic always uttered those two words with contempt.

Topher changed computers and went to studying Yankee's brain. Heightened adrenaline was to be expected but a space on the dorsal side of the hippocamthus was highlighted. Clearly one of Yankee's memory blocks had detached or dissolved which in all likelihood had caused this situation.

"Something has caused her to glitch. Whatever she experienced in that club has caused this reaction. She's running from some trauma".

"You think it's the engagement then?" Dominic looked skeptical. "Wasn't she checked prior to the engagement being assigned?"

Topher nodded. "Double. I mean 'chaperone a sixteen year old boy on his birthday for his first big night out in the scary city of Los Angeles'. I don't see anything terrible in that".

Dom didn't say anything. "We're missing something. Keep working on it, I'm going to inform DeWitt".

Topher wasn't happy, voicing his opinions directly "Do we really have to wake her up? It's 4 in the morning?"

He was more scared of being caught sleeping on the job than waking up his employer.

"No, we don't have to tell her Topher. We can wait until the morning, _try _and recover Yankee, hope it all goes right. And then wait for the phone call from the client asking her why his son's chaperone absconded. And _then_ wait for her reaction".

Topher's smile faded "Point taken".

As Dominic went to leave Topher grabbed his arm "But you're not going to tell her about all this are you?"

He swept his arm over the control room, now looking much-less professional with its upturned futon and duvet all over the place.

Dominic smiled, removed his arm from Topher's grip and left the imprint room.

**

Finally Yankee's legs could carry her no further.

And she stopped.

Breathing like she was about to cough up a lung she finally manage to suck in enough oxygen to think lucidly about where she was; and where she was turned out to be some squalid area of downtown Los Angeles, not too far away from South Central.

Yankee didn't know this as she wasn't from Los Angeles, but there was enough active intuition firing in her brain to know where not to be if you were a lone female at 4 o'clock in the morning.

It was here.

But here was currently deserted and until whomever showed up she needed to take stock of events.

The alley she was in was some access for a department store loading dock. The dock itself was shut but the lip offered an inviting overhang that allowed someone of Yankee's size to slip under it and be out of sight to anyone who may come wandering down looking for her. It wasn't complete though and if anyone stopped in front of her hiding place she would be seen.

'Ignore that for now' she thought.

Curling up into a ball to stave off the 4 o'clock chill and to keep in body heat despite her exertions Yankee began trying to remember anything.

And slowly, gradually, stuff began to filter through.

The club was there with its drumbeat, and the lights, and the smoke and the noise.

And before that there was the boy, the boy with the acne and someone older than that. His father? No, his uncle. His uncle introducing them at their home.

The boy's mother was there and gave her some frosty looks due to her clothing and manner.

The home was expensive, really expensive, and BIG!

"_Jeanette, this is my nephew Ryan, it's his birthday today" _

The uncle smiles towards his boy but then smiles at her, and the smile turns into a leer that she doesn't like at all. But she says nothing.

Ryan, Ryan's birthday.

"_Make sure Ryan's birthday is one to remember" _the uncle is telling her. The woman walks from the scene in disgust.

Jeanette doesn't know why.

There's someone else there as well, another woman. Non-judgmental, with blonde hair. She's not part of the family and Yankee trusts her. Trusts her with her life.

But she's not a face Yankee recognizes either.

But she knows her name is not Jeanette.

Yankee put her head in her hands and cried. For a second she cried uncontrollably, sitting in that loading dock culvert.

Ryan wanted something else than Yankee was willing to give. Did Yankee know that when she met Ryan?

Did the uncle know?

"_Make sure Ryan's birthday is one to remember"_

Yankee stopped crying abruptly. That was not fair. She remembered the drinks.

Because of the age of its clientele _The Widow_ was alcohol free. But no one checked Ryan's pockets for anything other than alcohol. They wouldn't have found anything anyway, he had concealed the GHB beneath the instep of his cowboy boots he never went clubbing without, and plastic doesn't show up on metal-detectors.

The drinks they'd all been necking were some toxic e-numbered mix of cranberry juice and RedBull, strong enough flavours to mask the taste of the drug snot-faced Ryan had discreetly poured into Yankee's glass while he was bringing them over to the table they'd all purchased.

Everything became blurry after that.

But Yankee remembered feeling pain where no girl should feel pain when she's out clubbing, and Ryan's swimming face, his rough hands, and his breath! His breath reeked of who-knows-what.

She managed to swing enough to get him off her and the next thing she remembers are shoes, the cold air and burning lungs as she began to run.

But then what?

There was nothing else, nothing before that. It's like her memory was, somehow, locked. Nothing else was getting out.

And her name, Jeanette, it didn't fit. She didn't feel like a Jeanette.

Looking down at her exposed ankles in the sneakers Yankee noticed a mark, a number: CC3361415.

She was curious. It wasn't a birth date or a Social ID number.

Hold on! How did she even know what a birth date was?

Straining her memory until it hurt to think she recalled days of the week, months of the year, but nothing personal. Nothing HER!

But she was positive her name was NOT Jeanette.

Yankee didn't know what else to do for another hour. And it was a stroke of luck that she didn't move, because the loading dock's metal lip, the same overhang that she crawled under to get out of sight of anyone unsightly was an alloy of lead, steel and raw tungsten. Something to hold up to repeated pounding by drunken or incompetent truck drivers and not get pinched by the first vagrant seeking a quick buck down the local scrap yard.

It was heavy and not going anywhere and following its coating of vandal-proof paint it was extremely effective at blocking the GPS trace Yankee had implanted in her neck so that the DollHouse could keep an eye on her.

**

"What Do You Mean 'I've lost her'?"

Adelle DeWitt clipped English consonants shot across the, now brightly lit and tidy program room.

Although she was not as immaculately made-up as she usually was, it still being 5am, she was never the less sternly formidable in skirt, blouse and winter coat.

Shucking off the latter and pushing past a stammering Topher to get to the computers that did indeed show Adelle that Yankee had vanished off the Los Angeles map.

"Do you still have her bio-signature?" she asked not turning round.

Topher leapt at this, a chance to score points and get back in his boss' good graces "Yes, I do. And... It's showing some interesting results".

After tapping a couple of keys Topher brought up a timeline of Yankee's brain pattern, speeded up from the time she left the van to present day. It was up to real time so they knew that Yankee was still alive in Los Angeles but just didn't know where.

The changing in colour around her brain activity indicated something major but neither Dominic nor Adelle were brain surgeons so they'd have to be spoon-fed this one.

"This is Yankee's brain pattern for the first 3 to 4 hours or so of the engagement right? Normal, peaceful, serene. She's got a standard chaperone/party-girl persona in her which is fine and we double checked the parameters before uploading the imprint so we're covered at this end".

Pause.

"Get to the point Mr. Brink".

Ok, Adelle was mad at him. I guess Dominic told her about him turning the alarms off in his lab.

"Everything is green until 02.36am".

Topher highlighted the brain activity at this time and ran it in slow-mo to prove his point.

"At 2.36-2.37 something weird happens to our girl. Heart rate and respiration go down, which is unusual in an emo club at 3am on virgin night".

"Her brain function is crashing". Dominic's clipped Californian causes Adelle to turn to look at her head of security, who just shrugs as if to say 'What? I can read _some_ brain scans'.

"Right Dom, right. Crashing, good verb. Not 'crashing' per se, but defiantly reduced. And as there's no alcohol in this club tonight it can't be liquor responsible soooooo that only leaves narcotics as probable cause".

"Are you saying our sixteen year old took his stash with him to party?"

Laurence Dominic's question, as mad as it sounded was right on the money. Adelle put the pieces together in her head at lighting speed.

"So our blond blue-eyed sixteen year old slipped his chaperone something?"

Topher nodded.

"Okay, what?"

Topher turned back to another console which was running some ultra-fast diagnostic looking up possible poisons or drugs that could have caused such a dive in brain activity. He had already consumed a double espresso so his brain was now cranking at 100 miles per hour.

"That… I am still working on".

"With all due respect Ma'am to our scientist here" Dominic's voice came from Adelle's side again, given Adelle a not unnoticed wave of security as well as something bordering on pleasure.

"If all this information is correct we can assume with a degree of certainty that this sixteen year old has doped Yankee with the intent of assaulting her. The effects required, unconsciousness, pliability and so on as well as access to these drugs would give us a fairly short list to check. Probably either Royhypnol or GHB are at work here".

As Mr. Dominic finished that sentence the diagnostic console pinged up a positive test and confirm for the ingestion of GHB into Yankee's brain pattern.

Adelle now felt something closer to pride and satisfaction at her head of security's intelligence.

Topher was already pouring through the list of ingredients in the drug.

"Oh… bad… not so bad… worse… normal…" he muttered to himself as he went down the list of chemicals and how they affect the memory blocks all the Actives have in place around their main neural cortex.

"Ok" he said turning back to the now clued in and eager to get started pair.

"This is why we shouldn't let the Actives partake in drugs. The compounds in GHB have caused one main block in Yankee's cortex to dissolve. One can assume that she snapped out of her imprint at the first indication that something was wrong..."

"What like being raped?" Adelle was angry now, but Topher could tell that the anger was not aimed at him.

"That something was wrong" he continued "and she naturally freaked and ran".

"Understandable" uttered Dominic.

A second passed while Adelle took on board this information.

"Were that the case Topher wouldn't her handler have picked her up wandering around outside the club? Why has she ran over 9 miles so far across this city? AND WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS HER HANDLER IN ALL OF THIS?"

Adelle had rarely had the need to raise her voice in front of her employees. Given her stiff English upbringing she felt words were better delivered in forceful tones rather than high decibels. Topher literally ended up in his own imprinting chair at this demonstration and even Mr. Dominic, who had seen Adelle shout on a couple of occasions already jumped a bit (though he'd never admit to Topher in future arguments).

"I don't think she's running just from the…" Topher couldn't bring himself to say the word 'rape' but both Adelle and Dominic knew what he was driving at.

"She's glitching. Which means she's just zoned into a situation she has no memory of with no real idea of who she is or where she is or why she's there? She's running on instinct now. Natural fight or flight, y'know? Basic instincts?"

"Are you saying one of our Actives has gone feral?"

Dominic used the same tone here that he did when he uttered the words 'master programmer'.

"Yes. No! Not in a 'Lord of the Flies' way, this is Los Angeles not Borneo. But she will go to ground, if she hasn't done so already. Which is _probably_ why we can't track her right now, she's somewhere that jamming our GPS".

"Well it's good to know our tech isn't omnipotent" snapped DeWitt sarcastically.

"Does she remember the House?"

Topher shook his head.

"Unlikely, this isn't like a remote wiping. But she won't remember who she is, not her _true_ self either. Which will be just as distressing to her, being…?" Topher shivered "'abused' and then waking up not remembering who you are".

"We need to find her, and fast".

Dominic's voice was edged with steel. 'His game voice' thought Adelle if a man possessed such a thing.

Directing at Topher now Dominic turned "Did Yankee have any close friends among the Actives, anyone she interacted with more than the others?"

It was noted the Actives tended to form natural relationships with other Actives. Nothing personal or desirable was tolerated but human beings were social animals and despite the repeated wipes all Houses found they couldn't prevent the Actives forming groups of three or four who interacted with each other on a semi-regular basis.

"She is the closest to Kilo and Charlie" came the programmer's reply. "Kilo's currently on an overnight engagement".

As her head of security turned to look at her Adelle momentarily forgot she was the head of the House and Laurence was waiting for permission to put his plans into action.

Recovering fast she responded decisively "Wake up Charlie, get him imprinted with something appropriate; negotiator, counselor, whatever. Also, try and give him a bit of Yankee's past history. If he can talk her down without bloodshed then the better for all of us, and it'll help if he can tell her something about herself, something she currently doesn't remember".

"That's not a quick imprint" muttered Topher.

"Set a record" she replied. It was clear Adelle was in no mood for excuses.

Turning to Laurence "Get a single crew ready, one vehicle. We want this to be as discreet as we can. Not for the public but for Yankee. She's going to expect vans, guards and dogs roaming the city searching for her let's try not to play into her nightmares too much".

"The handler?" Mr. Dominic was already punching buttons on his phone waking up his on-call team.

"Get her on the phone now" seethed DeWitt.

"And get the kitchens to make me breakfast, I'm starving and I need a cup of tea in the next 5 minutes".

Sitting down at Topher's computer with a thump she ignored the little man now running to his assemble screen to begin creating the imprint for Charlie.

Looking at the changing flux of Yankee's bio-signature she whispered "It's ok, we're coming".

**

Yankee still couldn't remember anything about herself. But she could remember the angel.

There was this bronze angel in her mind, and a fountain, and trees. But that was it.

But it was enough and it was nice.

And she remembered Ryan. Or whatever his name was. Yankee knew her name was not Jeanette so she didn't believe his name was Ryan either. The scars on his face and his hair told her that he was just another rich teenager given a toy by relatives, a 'toy' he didn't respect and wanted to break just because he could.

"They tried" muttered Yankee to herself. "But I'm still here, and now they're going to get theirs".

Her own voice was familiar to her; she knew that she came from the Bronx by the twang, the Manhattan skyline appearing in her mind as if on cue. So what an earth was she doing in Los Angeles?

'Ryan knows. So let's go see Ryan' she thought.

And with that Yankee began to retrace her steps, slowly at first but once she remembers she began to run again. Only this time it was with purpose.

**

When Yankee's GPS reignited it caught most of the search-and-capture forces by surprise.

This is due to everyone believing Topher's theory that Yankee had dug her GPS out of herself and was still running in a westerly direction. The thought that a frightened Active would double-back on them never occurred to anyone, not even Dominic.

A good 25 miles west of Yankee's loading dock hidey-hole Dominic's learning of his folly was very colourful.

It was made even more eventful as the van was in the middle of a residential area, down a one way street and thanks to a sleepy driver who hadn't consumed enough coffee they managed to sideswipe a parked car whilst doing a three-point-turn, set off its car alarm and then have to try and avoid a shootout with its irate owner who came out of a nearby house toting a twelve-gauge obviously thinking his car was being jacked.

Charlie proved invaluable as a negotiator then.

Dominic was ashamed to admit he was half-inclined at first to shoot the owner in the head and drive off, but Charlie spun such a convincing tail of surveillance and drug factories and city service and a medal from the mayor that by the time they had politely refused first the help offered from the owner and then coffee and food from his wife (they weren't native Los Angelinos, they'd just moved from Kansas City) and were back on the road again Dominic had to hide his phone under the seat to muffle the wailing of the ringtone.

He knew DeWitt was calling him for progress updates and when you don't have any progress at all not picking up is definitely the best option.

Before Mr. Dominic left the garage with his security team Adelle had taken up permanent residence in Topher's funroom, drank half a cup of Earl Grey tea and had finally summoned up the professional resolve to have a conversation with Yankee's handler Joan. Having the tea was worth it, it restrained every fibre in Adelle's being not to yell at the woman down the phone.

"Carpenter, what's the situation please?"

_pause_

"We are currently outside the club Ms. DeWitt, trying to determine from the security staff what exactly caused the problem with Yankee".

Joan Carpenter was on her cell phone at this point, having ducked into the manager's office to speak when she felt her phone go off.

"And what have you deduced?"

"The managers have given us access to the video feeds, they show nothing out of the ordinary occurring on the club floor. But Yankee does vanish from the cameras at 02.45".

"And where does she go then if she doesn't leave the club?" Adelle was becoming irritable with the handler's lack of deduction. Although she was forcing herself to remember that Carpenter had none of the toxic analysis she possessed in front of her.

"The manager is here Ms. DeWitt, he says he doesn't know".

Adelle was now very angry.

"Tell the manager that our girl was almost raped in his club. Tell him he better start telling you the whole truth and nothing but. Also tell him I'm on the way down to his club personally and unless we have access to everything I intend to burn down his club with him inside it. Now, do you have all that Ms. Carpenter?"

She could tell Joan Carpenter was smiling down the phone "Yes Ma'am" came her enthusiastic reply.

But she was in the club and away from her monitors in the truck, so when the GPS reactivated she wasn't in position to intercept Yankee, who virtually ran past the truck itself looking for Ryan.

**

Yankee skirted round the back of _The Widow_; it was winding down now, 5am moving round to half past. She wouldn't believe the sneering boy would hang around the club, especially in the knowledge that his little "fantasy" had gone so wrong.

'So where would he go' Yankee thought.

Suddenly her head opened up again.

That's what it felt like to Yankee who collapsed moaning as she experienced the worst migraine of her life. In her head more lights were being turned on as the GHB dissipated and her consciousness was re-activated through the dissolved memory block.

_Joanna Figurero. Your name is Joanna Figurero_

This thick Bronx accent repeated in her head so loud it sounds like a church bell chiming.

Yankee/Joanna suddenly remembered.

Not everything. But most things; the Bronx, her little sister, her momma so sick, the law degree, working nights to cover tuition, everything.

And she remembered sketchy parts of her current imprint.

Ryan was planning to have post-clubbing breakfast at _The Imperial_, an all night coffee shop 4 blocks down from _The Widow_.

She also remembered snippets of other imprints, from other engagements. Weird things; some good, some bad, some so, so wrong! All of them her but nothing concrete; like footsteps in the sand of her brain, being washed away by repeated relentless tides.

But she knew where the coffee house was. And if that spoiled rich baby was there then she'd make sure he'd remember her just as she remembered him.

**

"How long have we got and how far are we away from her"?

These were Charlie's first words upon awakening. Adelle had to admit she was impressed with Topher's work over such a short timeframe. They already had Charlie's clothes ready and Adelle took her leave to change herself while he shucked out of his pajamas in front of a very surprised Topher.

"Well, that I did not expect" muttered the skinny man, as Charlie stripped off completely and threw on the jeans, shirt and denim jacket that had been provided.

"Sorry" grinned the twentysomething Active with the faux Bronx accent "Time is money. Or something".

"'Or something' indeed" said Topher under his breath, running a quick diagnostic to make sure the imprint had taken.

In the end they left in a van and a car. Adelle DeWitt doesn't do vans, you can't strike fear in 5 inch stilettos climbing out of a van. A tinted limousine on the other hand…

Charlie moved out with Dominic and his team for the rendezvous with the couple from Kansas City while Adelle headed straight to the club. Before separating the two vehicles were moving with such clarified purpose rarely seen in the dawn of the City of Angels that any real angel observing from a billboard would instantly deduce something important was going down that night.

Meanwhile Topher was dialing Joan Carpenter again

"Do you have her?"

"What are you talking about Topher?" Joan had just left the club and its eardrum-bursting backbeat and had only felt her cell phone _brrrr_ again.

"Yankee! She just passed the van about 5 minutes ago!"

"What?" came Joan's reply.

Topher stopped pacing "Why do people always say that? 'What'? What part of 'Yankee passed the van' are you having trouble with? The next thing you'll be saying is 'Are you sure'"

"Ok, where is she now Topher?" replied Joan climbing into the van, she was used to the programmer's rants but now was not the time.

"Well if you look at your 100% accurate GPS you will see that famous Y-marked blip heading south at speed. May I suggest you get after it, I've already informed Dom's posse and there is no doubt that the boss-lady will be touching down at your location within the next 10 minutes".

Joan didn't say anything. It was the fear.

"Oh relax" soothed Topher "It's not like _you_ did anything wrong. Much."

Joan recognized the humour in Topher's voice and silently vowed to get back at the self-appointed genius of all things neuro another time.

"Just think of it like those gladiators in ancient Rome, "Those of us who are about to die-"

Joan hung up. She knew the rest of that phrase and really, really hoped it didn't apply to her.

**

Ryan Jackson was stirring his coffee with the same brooding single-mindedness that got him into this mess in the first place.

His friends were there with him, but none of them knew the information his uncle had told him just prior to this night, that the girl would do and say anything and none of it would come back on Ryan. He'd never even heard of this GHB until his uncle gave it to him and told him how to hide it to prevent it being found.

And now he had nothing but a sore groin and a possible lawsuit on his hands.

But that wasn't his only problem.

His uncle had told him that when he made this arrangement how much this birthday was costing him and while the girl was pliant to anything Ryan wanted he was informed (in no uncertain terms) that the girl was to come back in one piece.

Now he had no girl at all. And although he could placate his uncle through the manipulations of his own father he was uneasy at trying the same thing with the Mafia, or whatever criminal organisation supplied the girl.

The girl herself was not that bad a problem. The Russians, or Italians, or whomever would have hundreds in line to replace her and well… this isn't the first time Ryan had asked for more than a girl was willing to give.

It was definitely the last time though.

Joanna found _The Imperial_.

The café was fashioned on the atypical American diners with the cushy bench seating in the booths along the length of the restaurant. Ryan was sitting at the far end booth with friends, both surrounded and protected from any visible, apparent threat.

This made sense as the only way to reach him would be down the centre of the café and through his bodyguards.

Unfortunately Joanna thought otherwise and when she entered the diner she just started climbing literally over the benches ignoring the shouted protests of their occupants to get to her quarry.

Ryan didn't notice her until the shouts became too loud to ignore and she was virtually on top of him.

And with his friends hemming him in there was nowhere to go.

_**CRACK!!! **_

The sound of Joanna's sneaker connecting with Ryan's jaw, it breaking and Ryan's head rebounding off the Formica table all combined to stop the melee in _The Imperial_ dead.

Ryan's friends scattered, clearly not used to such open displays of violence as Joanna starting screaming at the top of her lungs in broken Bronx-laden tones at the cowering teenager, blood pouring from his nose, tears from his eyes, hands up ineffectively trying to ward her off.

"MOTHERFUCKER!!" yelled Joanna, finally finding her voice and belting the defenseless boy again with her right hand.

Ryan had now dissolved into unpronounceable babble (caused mainly by his broken jaw) offering pleas of mercy and forgiveness that he knew would fall on deaf ears.

He didn't recognize the girl that seemed to fly at him from across the coffeeshop, she was nothing like the girl he's been introduced to in what felt like a lifetime ago. This girl was all hard vowels and street language and attitude. The attitude poured out of her like a waterfall. And it was pouring over Ryan's head.

Joanna got in another left hook before someone called to her over the now (very deserted) café.

"Jeanette, do you want a treatment?"

**

Joan Carpenter had run very fast the 4 blocks to _The Imperial_ café and got there just in time to see the foot-to-jaw action go down at the far end of the diner.

Un-buttoning her sidearm that all handlers were required to carry (but only use as an extreme last resort) she quickly prayed to her deity she wouldn't have to use it tonight.

Now she had caught the attention of the only standing person in the place, the rest of the customers having vacated the premises at lightspeed and the staff no doubt cowering behind the countertop praying that guns weren't about to come into play.

Joan was praying with them. Yankee was looking right at her and Joan felt very, very uneasy.

"Treatment? For what? For rape!"

Yankee was spitting bullets at Joan, and while Joan was trained to handle difficult situations, and had been given a rough guide by Topher as to the reasoning behind the night's events the word still had the power to shock.

What was even more concerning was that the word 'treatment' seemed to have no affect whatsoever.

Joan swore silently to herself.

"Yankee, if you can just calm down for a second then we can talk easier-"

"Why do you call me Yankee?" shouted Joanna. "And why do I have memories of other people in my head?"

'Christ' thought Joan, 'she's remembered'. Silently she prayed that someone else was keyed into this situation; Laurence Dominic, Topher, even Adelle DeWitt, because she had no way of calling them with her Active looking directly at her.

With nothing coming into her head at that second in way of calming speech she ran quickly through the list of Yankee's imprints for anything that could be lethal. Although by the look and the whimpers coming from Ryan, now slumped under the table his head bounced off this girl was pretty lethal in her own right.

"Hey lady, I asked you a question!"

Joan snapped back to see Yankee advancing, not at a run but not slowly either. She didn't want to have to shoot the girl but she couldn't see any other option.

Fortunately for everyone Adelle's negotiator ploy came into play at that moment.

"Joanna Figurero!"

Joanna stopped and looked outside through the diner windows to where a clean cut white man was standing.

It was a mix of her name and the South Bronx accent that made Joanna pause, and that pause allowed Joan to slowly exit the diner while keeping her eyes on Joanna and her sidearm holstered but ready to draw.

Joanna walked to the doorway of the diner to where a white guy in a denim jacket stood by a dark security van.

"Who are you?" she asked with impunity.

"What you really want to know is how I know your name" replied the man, quite obviously Charlie.

"Your accent. You're not from around here". Joanna's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her mind was glitching but she didn't know it, so when her senses were telling her something was wrong; the call to come outside, the call to leave the diner she ignored them.

"I'm here to make sure things don't become too messy regarding you and the boy in there" Charlie continued, hoping that her piqued interest would draw Joanna further out. It was working, Joanna was cautiously leaving the diner and Charlie saw Joan slip round the corner and out of any possible line of sight.

Joanna started to form a response to this latest comment but never achieved audible levels as she was hit in the chest twice with tranquilizer darts courtesy of Mr. Dominic and his associates.

They had been setting up on opposite sides of the crosswalk and just needed Joanna to walk outside to be able to establish a clean shot.

Joan knew this which is why she vacated the diner ahead of her Active.

Joanna tried to form more words as her body gave way, but nothing worked as her mind and world dissolved into darkness.

It wasn't as slow and drawn out as Joan would have liked, she actually liked Yankee (when she wasn't punching her clients to a pulp) but she knew Laurence Dominic had never been one for sentimentality over efficiency.

And besides if Yankee hadn't responded to her treatment trigger there would be no way of getting her home without subduing her. And this was the kindest way the DollHouse had at its disposal.

"Jonathan, would you like a treatment?"

Charlie shrugged to the question of his handler and got back into the van to wait while Dominic's crew loaded the unconscious form of Yankee in beside him.

Laurence didn't acknowledge Joan, expect to glare and say "I'll speak

to you later".

Joan watched the van pull away and then had to walk the 4 blocks back to the club with a heavy heart to where her own van was waiting.

DeWitt was nowhere to be seen, EMS had arrived to deal with the teenage rapist in the diner and the status quo had finally been restored.

**

"Hello Yankee, how are you feeling?"

"Did I fall asleep?" Yankee felt woozy, more than usual after falling asleep. And she had sticky electrodes all over her chest.

"Yes, you slept for quite a while".

'Which will happen' thought Topher 'if you pump a ten stone girl with enough sedative to anesthetize a whale'.

"Shall I go now?"

"If you like" replied Topher, helping Yankee out of the chair and returning her to her handler Joan Carpenter who helped Yankee get all the sticky gel off her chest where the medics had been monitoring her vital signs.

Yankee had been asleep for the best part of 3 days. It was good in a way because it allowed Topher to re-erect the memory block around her cortex without hurting her (it was an unpleasant procedure). But Rambo Dom had almost caused a coma with his overuse of the sedation and it had worried everyone, even DeWitt.

Though thanks to Topher's brilliance (he was modest) they had managed to re-awaken Yankee's brain, scrub the parts that remembered the violence in the diner and return her to her Active state.

Looking at her now, reading on one of the couches with Charlie, it was hard to believe that this was the same girl that had caused such a massive amount of fuss.

And one broken jaw.

Shrugging to himself and murmuring "Crazy kids" under his breath he got back to work with the daily schedule.

Up in the lofty heights of power things were running less smoothly for some than they were for others.

Adelle watched Carpenter escort Yankee out of the imprint-room and back down to the DollHouse floor, letting her go and sit next to Charlie on the sofas near the dining room.

Mr. Dominic knocked to enter the office bringing her out of her prioritizing.

"Topher reports Yankee's mental blocks have been reestablished, no further anomalies reported and he's cleared her for further engagements".

"Thank you" replied Adelle, the lack of continual response causing a momentary vacuum in the conversation.

"Do you think the boy will press charges?" she mused, looking out the window.

Dominic snorted "I think it's unlikely anyone charged with rape will press an assault charge on their victim. Besides, where's the victim now?"

"Where indeed" replied Adelle watching Yankee sit up and smile as Kilo walked by on his way somewhere.

"I noticed the tattoo on Yankee's ankle during the 'incident' in the club" she said, voice now all business.

"I don't know why it is still there after all this time but I want it removed as soon as possible".

"I'll organize it immediately ma'am, Dr. Saunders can remove it totally under anesthesia so it shouldn't require multiple laser treatments".

Adelle nodded, "The less visual tells Yankee has, should she glitch, the better for everyone. And I want her closely monitored on any forthcoming engagements; while her breaking of her attacker's jaw was understandable in this instance it is something I would like to avoid in the future. Inform Topher, he might have to construct some stronger blocks around Yankee's emotions should anything go awry in the future. Now please escort Mr. Jackson in to see me please".

Dominic nodded and left, his face an emotionless mask.

Five minutes later Daniel Jackson was sitting in a very difficult situation.

"I don't understand how this affects my nephew at all" sighed Mr. Jackson dismissively.

Even Mr. Dominic, standing by the door raised his eyebrows at that remark. His eyes met DeWitt with a 'Is he serious?' look.

"Mr. Jackson. Let me see if I can spell this out for you. Clearly. You hired the services of one of our Actives. You are a regular client of this house so that request was granted and the engagement approved. You then told your nephew that by _drugging_ (Adelle elongated that word in a way only she could) the Active he would be able to lose his virginity during his birthday thus no doubt fulfilling his own engagement to _you _of becoming a man in _your_ eyes".

Daniel Jackson's eyes widened at the last remark but before he could speak Adelle continued "Your nephew Mr. Jackson. He told us everything in the emergency room. Well, he thinks he told the hospital counselor but, well, did you know we can imprint our Actives to be anyone?"

"What do you want?" said Mr. Jackson, now much more attentive than his initial dismissive tone.

"Mr. Jackson, you know that actions have consequences don't you?"

Oh how she loved using that line, it really was one of Adelle DeWitt's favorites.

Mr. Jackson nodded.

"Then this is simple Mr. Jackson. We will hold on to the records, police reports, not to mention the videotape showing the rape taking place in the secret room in that vile club called _The Widow_"

Mr. Jackson's mouth dropped open a second time. This time Mr. Dominic got in on the act

"The club had a camera, it turns out the owner had quite a collection in his personal safe, home movies, finest digital quality".

Adelle could not help but give a small smile at that remark. Mr. Dominic really was rather good at intimidation.

"As I was saying Mr. Dominic thank you" Laurence jokingly nodded for interrupting her "we will hold on to the physical evidence and in ten years time we get Ryan".

This time Daniel Jackson stood up and advanced on Adelle.

The lady didn't flinch, Mr. Dominic had his sidearm drawn and between the shoulder blades of Jackson before he'd taken his third step.

"Don't you dare take my nephew you bitch" he spat under his breath, taking care not to move lest he feel the force of a 9mm discharging through his heart.

"The alternative is prison Mr. Jackson. Ryan does not pass go, does not collect $200 instead he goes, directly (elongated again) to federal prison for rape and murder. Forever".

Jackson's face fell, Adelle could tell he was not aware of Ryan's past 'accomplishments'.

"It's 5 years Mr. Jackson, and despite insulting me just now I am willing to let that slide and pay Ryan the standard fee I pay all my Actives here. 5 years and a considerable amount of money or prison forever. You choose Mr. Jackson?"

That did it for Daniel Jackson; he slumped in his chair defeated.

"How do I explain it to his father?" he asked.

Saying that he reminded Adelle of the Actives when they ask questions like 'how do I be my best?', it was something in the tone that sounded so… lost.

But she refused to give him mercy, not after viewing the tape of Yankee being violated.

"That is not my concern Mr. Jackson, just make sure Ryan is delivered to us in 10 years time and not a day later. That is all for now, thank you".

She turned away to look at her computer which gave the signal to Dominic to help escort a physically trembling Dan Jackson out of her office and then the building.

Bringing up the streaming security cameras she found Yankee in art class painting a starfish with bright orange paint.

Charlie was by her side and Kilo, a dark skinned boy was in front of her doing some random design with blues and greens.

'She's back on track, among friends' thought DeWitt before turning off the computer and returning to her paperwork.


End file.
